White Lilies
by almostsophie1
Summary: Set during/after All That Remains. Hawke is used to hiding hurt behind humor, but she can't take the idea of losing someone else that she loves. She's forced to actually deal with the relationships around her and the people she cares about, namely- Fenris and Anders. (Past Fenris, current Anders romance).
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Playing through DAII, it drove me crazy that a humorous Hawke didn't seem to take things seriously enough during the first part of All That Remains. So here's a shamelessly angsty, love-triangle, take on it. Hawke can't joke away everything, after all._**

* * *

 _Desperation: Hawke_

 _White lilies. White lilies._

She had to run. She was tearing through Hightown, feet slapping the ground. She was still wearing the comfortable clothes she only had on when in the estate. The genteel slippers weren't meant for running, and her heels were slipping in and out of them.

 _Not Mother. Please, not Mother._

Hawke could only think of getting to Anders. He would be in his clinic. She could find him, and then maybe track down Gascard. He _had_ to have new information. Or old information. Maker, she would take any scraps he gave her.

"Serah Hawke!"

She ignored the voice. Some merchant packing up their wares in the sunset. Maybe someone needed help. She really didn't give a damn.

Hawke lost Bethany to death, Carver to the Wardens, and she wasn't about to lose her mother to a madman.

Her lungs were on fire. One of her shoes fell off, but she continued without a glance back. Gamlen, with all of his denial and painful ignorance, would probably be in Lowtown by now, hoping his sister would be there. But the white lilies. Those Maker- forsaken flowers. Her mother was going to be the next victim.

"It's Hawke!" A child's voice called as she found herself panting through Darktown's decrepit walkways.

She stopped, seeing it was a little boy she'd spoken with before—Harrison. Breathlessly, she squatted next to him. "Harrison, can you do something for me? I'll give you a few silvers tomorrow."

"Of course, Ser Hawke!" Harrison was looking at her with the adoring eyes that made her far too uncomfortable. He looked at her like she was some bloody hero, not a panting, terrified woman. "But I should tell you, you're missin' a shoe, I think. Did someone steal it?"

Hawke cracked a smile, though her chest was still heaving. "Must be so," she gasped. "We might have a notorious shoe thief on our hands. Harrison, I need you to go to the Hanged Man. Tell Varric to meet me in Anders' Clinic. Tell him it's incredibly important that he comes immediately, and brings anyone else with him. And you try to make it back here before dark." Hawke said quickly, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

"I can do that, Ser Hawke! I'll do it really quickly! I'm really, really, fast. You'll see," Harrison answered enthusiastically before bounding off.

Hawke ran the few more steps to the doors of the clinic before bursting inside.

Anders was going through a chest, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he greeted her. "Jemma, I was hoping you'd come by. I was packing up everything else so I can move completely in with you. I've been going back and forth so much…" He stood and turned to face her.

She found herself speechless, her heart pounding. What did she blurt? 'My Mother's been taken by a serial murderer'?

"Maker's Breath, Jem, what's going on?" Anders closed the distance between them in a few steps, taking her shaking hands, which were clammy and curled into fists, and encircling them with his own. She'd always marveled in how warm his hands were, his fingers interlacing hers when they had a moment to stop and talk. Now they felt like they were the only things keeping her from falling through the ground, her mind swimming, legs weak.

"The man who Gascard was trying to get to—the one who's been taking the women. I think he has my mother." Hawke felt the hair on her arms rise as she finally voiced her fears. A shiver ran through her body.

"What?" Anders' eyes searched her face. "Are you certain?"

Hawke shook her head, panic still rising in her chest. "She's missing. I know she's been seeing some mysterious suitor for a while now. I didn't… I didn't ask her who it was. Never saw him. But he gave her white lilies, and the damn things are sitting back in the estate. If it's him… If he has my mother…"

Anders squeezed her hands gently. "We'll find her. We might need a little more muscle with us, though, if we're going after this monster."

"I sent someone to get Varric, and hopefully whoever else was at the Hanged Man." Hawke rested her forehead on Anders' shoulder, breathing in the smell of healing drafts. Her shaking had subsided, and she could think more coherently now. "I should look for Gascard in the meantime."

"We should get you some shoes. You're not even armed." Anders pulled his hands away and stepped back after kissing the bridge of Hawke's nose. "There's a pair of boots in the trunk over there," he gestured toward the edge of the room. "The patient… won't be needing them anymore." He said grimly.

Hawke kicked off her useless satin shoe and pulled fraying boots on instead. Her right foot was bloodied from stones and splintered walkways, but she was grateful she hadn't stepped on something that could've impaled her.

The boots were a little too big, but they would work. "I can do without daggers tonight. I don't care if anyone sees me using magic. I'm going to kill everything and everyone who's working with that bastard." Hawke spoke over her shoulder.

Anders was putting healing potions into his bag. "I can't argue with you there," he muttered as Hawke finished lacing the boots as tightly as she could.

"I'm going to find Gascard."

"Jem, wait." Anders called to her. "The others will be here soon. Gascard could be dangerous."

Hawke stopped in the doorway. Her heart rate had slowed, but her palms were still sweaty. She could see Bethany, the ogre bashing her body against the rocks, the crunch of bones and splatter of blood. Her last view of Carver, dragged away by the Wardens, his last look of fear.

"Dangerous? Sounds like an average Thursday." Hawke managed to say, though she was sure her voice wavered. She tried to turn again, but Anders caught her wrist.

"Please." Anders said quietly, golden brown eyes holding her own.

"I can't be too late." Hawke croaked. She forced a smile. "You know how I take pride in my punctuality. Never a moment late to kill a bastard."

Anders refused to let go of her. "Jemma."

Hawke felt a lump forming in the back of her throat. "If I miss this appointment, it could ruin my reputation. Assholes might think they can start showing up late to ambushes as well. Kirkwall would fall apart."

She knew Anders could see past her stupid jokes. And maybe it was the tears she could feel forming in her eyes, as well. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, holding her to his chest.

Her hands curled around the fabric of his shirt, and she tried to steady her breathing, to swallow away the feelings that threatened to break through her jester's mask. She'd cried three times since she was forced from her home in Lothering.

Once for Bethany.

Once for Carver.

Once when Fenris left her.

She wouldn't cry again. Because her mother couldn't leave as well. Her mother couldn't be gone. She couldn't lose anyone else.

Hawke thought she'd be better at losing people by now. She started learning young, with her father. But though she could better hide the hurt, it wouldn't go away.

"They'll be here soon, sweetheart. Just a few moments. Let's get everything together." Anders smoothed stray pieces of Hawke's black hair away from her eyes, strands falling loose from her ponytail.

Hawke nodded, forcing herself to let go of her death grip on Anders' tunic. He was the only one who had seen her beyond the jokes and teasing. It made her scared. Vulnerable.

She began corking healing salves and handed the little bottles to Anders, moving about the clinic methodically, rolling bandages, placing them in Anders' bag.

"Hawke, care to tell us what was so important I had to stop in the middle of my game of Wicked Grace?" Varric's voice asked from the entrance to the clinic. He had an eyebrow raised.

"Sorry to interrupt, Varric." Hawke answered, though she saw he had brought Fenris, of all people, with him. Her stomach dropped. She'd hopped for Isabela, and maybe on the off chance, Aveline. But not Fenris. Merril was there, too, overlarge eyes blinking at Hawke in anticipation.

"You were losing, Varric. Badly." Fenris said in his quiet, deep voice. It twisted Hawke's feelings to hear it. "It was hardly a tragedy for you to be pulled away."

"The boy made it very clear that it was quite the emergency. What is it this time? Did someone steal Isabela's pants again?" Varric drawled.

"I wasn't aware that Isabela even owned a pair of pants." Hawke retorted. The banter came easily, and she avoided looking at Fenris in the eye. "We have trouble. I think the killer we were tracking has taken my mother. We need to get to Gascard." Her voice was blunt, direct.

Varric's good-natured smile vanished. "Are you sure, Hawke?"

"Oh, no." Merrill said softly.

"More sure than I'd like to be, Varric." Hawke tried to keep her voice light. "Gascard should be in Darktown. If he can lead us to this murderer, we can take him down."

"Let us go then, Hawke." Fenris put in, his expression dark.

Hawke led the group out of the clinic, Anders by her side, Varric, Merril, and Fenris behind them.

 _Please be safe, Mother. Please. I can't lose anyone else._


	2. Chapter 2

_Looking the Other Way: Varric_

He was more than a little surprised that Broody and Blondie didn't say anything about blood magic. But then again, maybe they realized that Hawke would pay any price to find her mother.

Varric watched uncomfortably, and rather impatiently, as Gascard slit his hand open, that creepy red light taking him over as his body bent in ways that it shouldn't.

Broody muttered some Tevinter curse under his breath, but Hawke observed Gascard unflinchingly, and Blondie's eyes were fixed on her face. Unsurprisingly, Daisy seemed fascinated by it.

They followed Gascard now, winding through Darktown. "You know, DuPuis," Hawke tilted her head to the side as she addressed the blood mage, "I'd really like you to hurry and find my mother. Because if you're leading us somewhere else, I'll have to kill you. And it would be such a shame to get blood all over these robes. They're my favorite." Her voice was light, but Varric could see how hard her eyes were.

"Oh, I know how to get blood out of everything, Hawke," Daisy answered enthusiastically, undeterred by both the gravity of the situation and the obvious threat Hawke had made.

Varric patted the elf reassuringly, and she smiled at him, as clueless as ever. "I have a good feeling that we'll find Leandra," she said quietly.

"Let's hope so, Daisy," Varric muttered back. With all of the stories he wrote, he wasn't inclined to hope for much at all. He knew how incidents like this usually played out. Hawke was trying her hardest to keep calm, and that was what worried Varric more than anything.

Hawke naturally let things slide off of her, rarely getting emotional about things she could deflect with a good joke. The only other time Varric had seen her like this, he'd been scouting ahead in the deep roads.

 _"Is there anything you can tell me about his chances at surviving?" Hawke's voice echoed around the corner and Varric slowed, not wanting to interrupt this conversation._

 _There was a sad sigh in response, and Varric glanced around the corner to see Hawke and Blondie standing less than a foot apart. "I don't know, Jemma. It's different for everyone. But Carver is strong—stronger than he gives himself credit for."_

 _Hawke sniffed in mock offense. "Oh, I think he gives himself plenty of credit." Her joke fell flat and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is usually the part where Carver tells me I'm a stuck-up snob and pulls my hair," she attempted to tease Blondie._

 _Varric wondered for a moment if he should make his presence known. Watching Hawke flounder for humor was unnerving. She even gave a short laugh, bleak and hard._

 _"You have to believe he'll be alright," Blondie reached forward to squeeze her arm gently._

 _"I usually do. There was one time when Carver had been missing all day in Lothering. Mother panicked, thinking he'd wandered off too far, and Bethy thought he had been snatched up by bandits. I went straight to Briar's house. It was the girl who Carver had the biggest crush on. Sure enough, he had climbed a tree that was close to her window and had been trying to spy on her. He'd gotten stuck," Hawke snorted. "I had to help him down. You should've seen his face. He… he…" She laughed harder, though the sound was empty. Then she was shaking, her breath catching in her throat. Her words were strangled._

 _Blondie pulled Hawke to his chest, and she sobbed into his shirt. Varric swallowed and turned away, not wanting to intrude and sure that Hawke wouldn't want anyone to see her this way._

 _He'd scout a little further ahead and think of some good story to tell her when he returned._

"Are you planning on taking all night, DuPuis?" Hawke asked. "I didn't ask you out for an evening stroll. You're hardly dressed to be taking me to dinner, either."

Gascard sighed as Broody bristled. The tension had been palpable between the elf and Hawke for the last few weeks. Though Varric wouldn't doubt that it had something to do with Anders hanging off of Hawke recently. Seemed like Broody missed his opportunity with their fearless leader.

"We should be getting close." Gascard answered, unaware of the fire in Broody's mossy green and swoon-inducing eyes.

"You're just making up excuses to stay close to me, aren't you, DuPuis?" Hawke quirked an eyebrow, but Varric could see the shallow rise and fall of her chest. She was an excellent actress with her words and expressions, but even she couldn't hide the effect of a racing heart.

Blondie didn't seem to be annoyed with her empty flirting, his face the picture of concern as they continued through Darktown.

Gascard eventually stopped them, kicking at a wall. "Through here." Gascard told them.

Broody stepped forward, obviously ready to ram his shoulder against the wall, but Hawke was too fast. She merely pointed at the solid rock and it crumbled, leaving a cloud of dust for Varric to cough into. "I'm going to need a bath after this," Varric hacked.

"I didn't know dwarves took baths," Hawke answered evenly, already stepping through the rubble behind Gascard. "But that would explain why you always smell so lovely."

"Oh, I don't know where this flattery is going, Hawke. Next, you're going to say my chest hair is the most manly thing you've ever seen." Varric climbed into the new section of Darktown, though it looked like it could've been the abandoned basement of some manor long sealed off.

"I'd only be speaking the truth," Hawke tossed back, but she was stooped down, inspecting something on the floor.

Broody was kneeling next to her. "Blood." He rumbled in his low voice.

Hawke's eyes flashed, and she straightened. "DuPuis, can you sense a direction for us to go in?" She snapped.

Gascard shifted his weight uneasily. "Alessa is in here. But I do not know where."

"We don't need the blood mage, Hawke," Broody threw a glare at Gascard. "There is a trail." He pointed, and Varric could make out what looked like tracks. Tracks from a body being dragged, with red splotches every few steps.

 _Damn._ Varric had a bad feeling that they were too late. But it wouldn't stop him from helping Hawke now, and he even threw up a prayer to Andraste that he was wrong.

"No," Hawke's voice dropped as she ran along the tracks, stopping only when she reached the bottom of a ramp and a shade materialized in front of her.

Blondie threw up an ice wall in front of her, and Varric shot at thing as rapidly as he could. Before Broody could sink his sword into the thing, and before Daisy could finish slicing her hand with that gross dagger-through-skin sound, Hawke shouted unintelligibly, and the shade burst into flames, sinking into a pile of ash.

And then Hawke took off again toward the side of the room. There was a table there. A body. "Mother," Hawke called desperately.

Varric held his breath. Whoever it was, the person was definitely dead. Completely motionless.

Hawke pulled on the form's shoulder, and a woman much younger than Leandra rolled over. "It's Alessa," Hawke said flatly as Varric approached with the others. "What is this monster doing to these women?" Her face contorted with disgust. Varric scanned the blonde's injuries, only to wince when he saw her hands were missing.

"Jemma, is this Leandra's?" Daisy was holding up a gold locket. "I think I saw her wearing it last time I was over for dinner."

Hawke nodded and Daisy pressed the locket into the woman's hand. "We need to hurry," Hawke took off again, feet following the trail of blood.

"Jemma, be careful," Blondie tried to call out, but Hawke had already skittered to a stop in the next room.

"What… what is this?" She sounded like she was going to be sick as Varric caught up to them.

"She… she looks like Leandra," Daisy said slowly, huge eyes blinking in confusion. Varric followed her gaze to find a portrait of a woman who did look eerily similar to Leandra. There were candles around it, offerings of some kind.

Blondie turned to Hawke, his expression confused. "It looks like a shrine. To a… wife? A sister?"

There was no mistaking the terror in Hawke's voice now. "We have to find her. We have to-" and then she was wildly looking for the tracks again in the room. "I don't see a trail. She has to be here somewhere." Hawke's blue eyes found Gascard. "She has to be here."

"We will find her." Gascard answered, though he sounded more and more nervous each time Hawke had spoken to him.

"You better hope so, kid. For your sake." Varric answered, patting Bianca fondly.

Gascard swallowed uncomfortably, and they followed Hawke out of the room.

The next room was large, and at the very end, a chair with someone sitting with back turned to Varric. Hovering over the chair, was a gray-haired man. Varric adjusted Bianca in his arms as they drew closer.

"I was wondering when you'd show up. Leandra was so sure you'd come for her." The man said in a voice that made Varric want to shiver.

"My mother knows me best," Hawke snapped, striding forward only to stop a safe distance from the murderer.

The gray-haired man smiled, and Varric's fingers twitched on the trigger. He wanted to put an arrow through the bastard's eye, but he knew Hawke could just as easily kill him. But she wanted answers, to know where Leandra was being held. "Yes, and she spoke so fondly of you. What a lovely, gentle woman," the man drawled politely.

"You monster-" Hawke hissed, her lips twisted with rage. Broody looked like he wanted to run the man through just as much of the rest of them, while Blondie's eyes were fixed on Hawke, his hands gripping the staff so tightly his knuckle turned white.

"Quentin!" Gascard stepped out from where he'd been all but hiding behind Blondie. Varric scowled at the man.

"Gascard," the murderer extended his arms out like a welcome. "So you've reached me after all these years. I figured you gave up."

"Well now we've caught you, and you're going to pay," Hawke said through gritted teeth.

The man, Quentin, laughed, the sound cold. "You'll make me pay? Gascard respects me far too much to kill me."

Gascard clenched his fists. "Shut up. I'm going to learn your secrets, old man. Everything you kept from me."

"You son of a bitch. You knew him all along. I'm guessing he didn't even kill your rat." Hawke glared at Gascard before looking back at Quentin. "Tell me, _where is my mother?_ "

Varric had never heard Hawke speak that way. Ever. It may have been her magic, but it sounded like rocks cracking, the ground itself furious on her behalf.

"Hawke, the plan was always to kill him," Gascard answered in his typical weasely way. "Once he's dead, you'll have your mother back. And his research and writings will be mine."

Quentin paced away a few steps, and Varric thought he could feel the ground shaking ever so slightly under his feet. Hawke was going to explode at any moment, and he sure as hell didn't blame her. "I'm sorry, Gascard." Quentin turned back to face them. "When my wife died, I lost all hope. I wasn't able to be the mentor you deserved. But not, my work is finished. I can teach you as I always meant to. Come back to me, Gascard."

"You'll let me be part of this? You'll teach me the secrets of necromancy?" Gascard's eyes lit up like it was his fucking birthday, and Varric was more than done with the man. "I-"

Varric let Bianca do her best, and an arrow launched itself through Gascard's neck. Perfect aim. Gascard made a squelching noise as he went down, and Varric stepped forward to yank the arrow out of his neck. Waste not, want not.

Hawke looked at Varric from the side of her eye. "What? You were going to do that, right?" Varric shrugged, his voice even. Hawke gave him the smallest nod, her expression still murderous.

She rounded on Quentin. "Your apprentice, or whatever he was, is dead. You'll be next if you don't tell me where my mother is. This is your last chance before I kill you and tear through this place myself."

Quentin shook his head patronizingly, and Varric was surprised Hawke didn't just immolate him where he stood. "You will never understand my purpose. Your mother was chosen because she was special, and now she is part of something… greater." Quentin smiled proudly at Hawke, and Varric wondered if the situation would improve if he shot Quentin as well.

Hawke raised her hand to the level of her waist, and rocks shot up from the ground, circling around her like armor. In less than a second, she could have them speeding toward Quentin. "You had your chance-

"She's been here the whole time. She's waiting for you."

Varric felt all eyes drawn to the figure in the chair. It couldn't be.

"I have done the impossible. I have touched the face of the Maker and lived." Quentin grinned at Hawke, who seemed rooted to the spot. Her face, already pale, was now completely devoid of color. "Do you know what the most powerful force in the universe is? Love. I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers. And, at last, her face… oh, this beautiful face."

"No." Hawke's voice was barely audible as the figure stood up, moving irregularly with choppy, miscalculated movements. The thing was in some sort of wedding gown, but it looked like its limbs weren't responding to its own orders.

Broody said something else in Tevene, but Varric could hardly think about anything other than watching the scene unfold before him with sick horror.

"I've searched far and wide to find you again, beloved," Quentin crooned to the thing. "And no force on this earth will part us."

Quentin's experiment turned. It had Leandra's face.

"NO!" Hawke screamed, sudden wind roaring around them, rocks flying toward Quentin.

But he threw up a shield, summoning skeletons, demons, and fade spirits.

Varric loaded up Bianca again and fired. And fired. He danced back several steps as a corpse staggered too close, only to have Daisy jab her staff at it, making the thing explode.

Hawke wasn't being careful. She didn't even have her daggers, instead relying entirely on her magic as she tore skeletons apart and set demons on fire. Varric shot into the fray, weeding out the things Quentin had summoned, keeping his eye on the experiment with Leandra's face. She wasn't strong enough to stand, holding onto the chair with glassy eyes.

Hawke was the one who killed Quentin, using her force magic to lift him into the air when he wasn't protected, and slamming him down to the ground so hard Varric could _hear_ his bones crunch.

Broody impaled the last demon, and it burst into flames as he leapt back.

Hawke's arm was bleeding as she ran over to whatever Leandra had become, catching her just before her head could hit the ground.

"Mother! Are you… are you…" Hawke was breathing hard, probably not even registering her wounded arm.

"I knew you would come," Leandra cut Hawke off, and Varric had to look away for a moment. Blood was smeared on Leandra's neck where her head must've been attached to the mismatched body.

"Of course I did," Hawke croaked, her shoulders still rising and falling rapidly with every panicked breath. "Let's get you back home. We can figure this out. We can fix this."

Leandra hushed her, and Broody closed his eyes and bowed his head. Daisy looked at Varric with fat tears rolling down her cheeks. "I don't think she can be fixed, Varric," Daisy whispered.

"Don't fret, darling," Leandra reached a hand up to Hawke's face. "Having you here is home enough for me."

"Don't talk like that," Hawke answered quickly, voice raised in fear. "We're going back to the estate. You can nag me about not eating enough and complain about the dirty socks I left in the dining room."

Leandra's face stretched into a smile. "I get to see Bethany again… and your father. But you'll be here alone."

"I won't be alone. Because you're going to be fine." Hawke looked desperately over her shoulder to where Varric stood with the others. "Anders. Anders, you have to heal her. You have to help her."

Blondie stepped close enough where he could put his hand on Hawke's shoulder. "Quentin's magic was the only thing keeping her alive, Jemma. There's nothing I can do."

"No. That's not true." Hawke's eyes were lost. No humor. No sharpness. "You're going to be fine, Mama."

"You haven't called me that since you were a little girl with skinned knees," Leandra said weakly. "I love you, Jemma. You've grown to be so strong. Your father would've been proud of you. _I'm_ proud of you." Leandra's hand began to fall away, but Hawke caught it with her own and held it to her cheek.

"You can't go. You can't leave me here. Please don't leave me," Hawke choked, clearly struggling for air. Her cheeks were dry, but Varric could feel the lump that must be forming at the back of her throat, killing her from the inside out.

Varric wanted to look anywhere but at her, but he couldn't. Hawke was a friend, but one who was always quick to keep her guard up. To see her stripped bare made his heart drop to his stomach.

Leandra's glassy eyes stared ahead, pieced together body still.

"No. No." Hawke was shaking as she crawled backwards away from the body. Her eyes found Quentin in a broken heap, and she was on her feet, tripping over to him. She grabbed his body by his robes and shook him, her small frame swaying where she stood. "No, you can't be dead. Bring her back. Bring her back, you bastard." She shouted, before toppling over with his weight.

"Jemma," Blondie called out, but Hawke didn't seem to hear him now, still gripping Quentin's collar, calling him a monster.

Then Daisy tapped her staff against the floor, and black mist surrounded Hawke until she crumpled to the side, her fingers releasing Quentin's body. "She should sleep." Daisy said in a small voice. "I… I think she should sleep. It's too hard for her to be awake."

"Good move, Daisy," Varric assured her as calmly as he could. "We need to get Hawke patched up."

Broody scooped Hawke up in his arms, only for Blondie to snarl, "Don't touch her."

"Look, you can argue about who gets to carry an unconscious woman back to the estate, or we can leave now to make sure said unconscious woman is going to be alright." Varric sighed, and Blondie shot him an angry look.

But there were no further arguments, and Hawke didn't stir in the elf's arms.


End file.
